


— all is said and done

by softhearted



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Help, I dont know how to tag, Stiles blames himself, angst angst angst, derek hale and chris argent bonding, kind of sterek but not romantically, lydia tells jackson, no peter or daddy sorry, post 3x23, post allison, scott and isaac bonding, work title: FCUKING FUSCK ALLSION ARGHTEN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:04:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softhearted/pseuds/softhearted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison dies and all goes to shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	— all is said and done

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings at the end 
> 
> thanks to isabelle for half kind of beta'ing this idk she was really nice about it is that considered beta'ing
> 
> thanks to bogi for yelling at me in all caps telling me to get my shit together 
> 
>  
> 
> this started 10 minutes after allison died and i procrastinated  
> i will probably rewrite the whole thing but i'll probably procrastinate that as well

—  _all is said and done_

 

Allison is dead and no one is talking. Stiles doesn’t feel much difference between the pain after the nogitsune and the loss. He’s still pale and he doesn’t sleep. He looks like he’s possessed all over again. Melissa says he’s physically fine, but no one really dares to believe that anyway.

There’s a memorial at the school (robbery gone wrong, poor poor Allison, wrong place wrong time) and a funeral, a small one (Allison, warrior, hero, friend, daughter, love). There aren’t many people, but Derek comes, and he brings flowers, and Cora texts something really impersonal. Kira comes too, but not because Scott asked her to. She comes because she feels guilty. No one tells her she shouldn’t be—it’s easier to blame her than to blame themselves. Her parents wanted to come, but Chris told them not to. He said he wouldn’t be able to let them walk away alive if they did.   

Lydia speaks, something about friendship and Allison and love, but eventually she stops because she cries too much and Chris Argent doesn’t say anything, Chris Argent just stares at the coffin his daughter is in and he thinks,  _I love you, and I’m proud of you. I’m proud of us._  And he looks at Derek and Derek nods at him ( _I know how it feels. I know how it feels. I know how it feels_ ). Scott had thrown Isaac against the wall again, just after it happened. Isaac had let him. They cried after. They’re sitting next to each other and hold hands. Sheriff Stilinski sits behind them and has his hand on Scott’s shoulder while Melissa leans against her son. There’s not much to say.

Stiles sits alone. He says he wants to. His mind is an endless echo of  _it should’ve been me it should’ve been me it should’ve been me it should’ve been me_ and he doesn’t dare fight it, doesn’t dare tell himself it shouldn’t have been him. When Chris looks at him and asks him with one lift of his eyebrows if he wants to talk, he shakes his head. He doesn’t want to. All he wants to is for Allison to come back.

 

—  _all is said and done_

Lydia screams. Meredith screams. Scott feels like screaming too. No matter how many times he showers, no matter how many times he washes his hands, he can never wash away the feel of her in his arms. He saw the light in her eyes leave, for god’s sake. He had her last words and he had her saying  _I love you, Scott McCall_ but it’s not enough, it’s not nearly enough because it’s one of the last things she said and that’s not how it’s supposed to be, god damn it.

He loves her—he loved her. And all he can do is sit and whenever he closes his fucking eyes he sees her, again and again and again and she dies every time, and he can’t save her, he can never save her.

Kira apologised, like, a thousand times, saying it’s her fault and how much she hates her mother and more crap Scott knows he should deny, he  _knows_ , but it’s so much easier to look at her like she killed Allison, it’s so much easier to just blame her and hate her and say nothing, just stare, and then ask her to leave so he does.

She says something along the lines of an apology once more and she doesn’t touch him or even look at him as she leaves but he can’t seem to find it in himself to care for any of it. He gets up and runs.

He runs for what feels like days.

In this form, the human pain feels different—a bigger predator chasing  _him_  instead of the other way around. He runs away from it, falling, crawling, trying to get up, to get  _away_ —

He howls. Not to signal a location to his pack (what pack? what fucking pack?) but because it  _hurts_. So he howls and howls and howls and runs, and he doesn’t stop until nothing smells familiar.

*

Alexandre Dumas said _man will never be perfect until he learns to create and destroy_. Scott never wanted to be perfect.

He wonders why he could carry love but never hold it up long enough for it to survive. How hard is it to forget what could’ve been? He thought he would marry her one day. Sometimes he wants to scream, but he lost his breath praying to a non-existent God to bring back what he lost.

His bones break trying to stand up straight, trying to carry the weight of him and corpses. He’s still waiting for the sky to fall and cut him in two. Scott McCall is gone, he says to himself in the mirror one day. When he sees himself form the words, he thinks might believe it.

 

—  _all is said and done_

He shoots seventy-nine bullets into a tree before he collapses, tears mixing with the muddy forest floor. His baby. His baby. His baby. He promised Victoria he’d take care of her and now she’s fucking  _dead_. His baby. Allison. Allison Allison Allison Allison. There isn’t much he can do now, but he still feels fucking worthless.

He punches the tree because he can (or can’t, he’s sure he broke something in his hand but at least it kind of dims out the constant _your daughter is dead your daughter is dead your daughter is dead_  but not really) and finds his way home, somehow.

*

The first time Derek shows up, Chris almost slams the fucking door in his face because he of all people should understand that this is  _not_  the time to bother him with, like,  _anything_. But the boy holds up a pan and Chris might not be a werewolf but he can smell that that shit’s good and he actually hasn’t eaten in like, two days (because his fucking daughter is dead god fucking dammit) so he lets him in anyway. They have had some good conversations since Allison died (and with conversations he means that they’ve exchanged long meaningful looks full of pain that made them both extremely sad and relieved at the same time because someone understood but at the same time that someone was like, enemy number one).

‘My mum used to make it,’ is the only thing Derek says as he fills the bowls Chris put in front of them. He nods. Derek nods too. They eat in silence.

It’s kind of nice? They don’t talk, or they do, kind of? They stare and they nod and its weird but Derek understands, and Chris understands too. The only thing that’s different is that it was Chris’s sister who fucking burned Derek’s entire family, and the nogitsune didn’t really share Derek’s blood, but if you thought about it, the entire nogitsune and dark spirit and supernatural thing kind of  _came_  with Derek and with what he was or is.

When Derek leaves, he says he’s sorry. Chris just stares at him for a long time. The boy turns around.

‘So am I,’ he mutters eventually. He’s sure Derek heard it, but the boy doesn’t make it known.

 

—  _all is said and done_

Lydia is exhausted. She’s been tired ever since, but she’s the most tired when she calls Jackson to tell him. She can’t even try to comfort him, after—he throws his phone against the wall and breaks it.

In the white noise that follows, Lydia screams.

( _Lydia Lydia Lydia I’m here I’m here I’m here Lydia Lydia I love you I love you I love you I’m here I’m here Lydia I’m here I love you I love you I love you it’s okay it’s okay I love you_ )

*

Her life consists of feet to small to carry her from bedroom to bathroom to window. Lydia Martin hasn’t washed her hair in two weeks. She doesn’t care.

Her speech on Allison’s funeral was about friendship, but she meant to say that Argent was a fucking house fire. She was the most beautiful, frightening thing anyone had ever seen—clinging to ashes like it was more than just that.

Lydia Martin wears her cracked porcelain skin like armour—she’s a haunted house, ghosts kisses in the dark. She continues acting like she doesn’t feel, like the explosion of hearts damaged her nerve system, but her body becomes collarbones and ribs like stairs to walk upon and sharp elbows to push everyone else away.

*

At 2:47 Lydia picks up the phone and listens to shallow breaths and hiccups. She breathes steadily, a soft rhythm until Stiles can follow her pattern, panic attack subsiding—

—sometimes Stiles tells her he feels like he’s drowning. She breathes with him until he stops hearing the echo of Lydia’s scream in his head.

He always apologises after. She always tells him she misses her too.

*

 

—  _all is said and done_

Stiles stops looking in the mirror. He showers quick, with his eyes focused on the tiled shower wall. He buys plaids two sizes too big, as if to hide his body. He quits lacrosse—he was shit at it anyway—, quits the whole eye-contact thing—it was overrated anyway—and starts thinking before he speaks.

His father eats three strips of bacon during breakfast. Stiles doesn’t say a thing. The sheriff throws the rest of the bacon in the bin. When he gets back from school, there’s nothing but healthy food in the fridge. He throws up on the kitchen floor.

*

 _This has to stop_ , his father says. Stiles’ hands disappear in his sleeves—he lays in bed and stares at the ceiling.  _I’m sorry_ , he answers, but he knows it’s not enough. It’s never been enough. It won’t ever be enough. Not now Allison is dead because of it.

They’re barely alone anymore. Not at school. Some subjects, sometimes, but there’s at least two of them at lunch and in most classes too. They barely talk, no one really makes eye-contact. But it’s nice not to be alone anymore, even just for a while. 

They part ways after the last bell and gather the next morning before the first. Some other people tried to talk to them, tried to make them feel better or talk to them about Allison but no one ever replied, and eventually everyone just stopped trying. 

Sometimes they all go to Lydia’s house and lay in her enormous bed together.

Most times Stiles goes home and tries to keep his lunch inside.

Sometimes Derek comes by.

 _It’s not your fault_ , he always says.  _You should stop blaming yourself._

The first times, Stiles said nothing. The fifth time, he told him to fuck off, because obviously Derek Hale wasn’t really the person he’d go to for mourning advice. Derek didn’t show up for two weeks. He apologised after, never said anything else anymore.

*

Sometimes, Stiles has to park his Jeep at the side of the road because he can’t see shit through his tears. His bony fingers slamming on the steering wheel never really dim out the thrum in his veins that won’t allow him not to think about it ( _Allison is dead Allison is dead Allison is dead it’s your fault it’s your fault it’s your fault it’s your fault_ ).

Most times he looks up at the sky and screams— _why the fuck didn’t you just take me why her why her why her why her_.

He never asks why Derek knows where he is or when he needs him. He gets pushed into the passenger seat while the Hale boy drives him home.

His father stopped asking and started telling Derek to remind his son to take his medication.

*

(After calling Lydia, sometimes Stiles breathes an _I’m okay_ into the empty room but mostly to Derek, who has been patrolling on his roof ever since he drove his jeep against that tree two days after it happened)

 

—  _all is said and done_

Isaac stops going outside unless he absolutely needs to. He rather stays in his room and watch how his skin parts and knits itself back together every time he slices it open with his knife. The pull of flesh trying to heal before it gets ripped open again is deafening, a constant pulse in his ears that can almost make him forget what it feels like to be alive and hurting.

One time, Lahey believed in a God that loved him. Now, he thinks God gets his power kick out of watching people leave. He wonders what he did wrong for his life to crash down around him like the remnants of a 747, wonders why Melissa McCall takes away his choice by locking the gun cabinet, wonders if when the obituary said _Allison Argent_ there were small letters saying _and Isaac Lahey_ because the boy is pretty damn sure he died that day.

He sometimes runs his hands over the things Allison touched most looking for the ghosts of her fingertips, practicing words he’ll never say to her. Rumour has it that drinking bleach kills the butterflies, and Isaac realises how he never took notice of abandoned places until he became one.

When he dry heaves apologies and her name sometimes Scott comes into his room and cries with him. He hasn’t got the balls to tell McCall he only makes it worse—

Most times, Isaac Lahey wonders if he might be an exit wound.

*

When his father started drinking, Isaac asked himself if it was because maybe his father wanted everything blurry so he could ignore the cracks in the walls.

His transformation into a werewolf was the worst and the best thing to ever happen to him. Derek Hale wears a leather jacket because it’s the only thing about him that can have scars.

Forty-seven days after the death of Allison Argent, Isaac crawls in bed next to Scott and curls up next to him in the most platonic way possible. Scott still thinks it’s gay, but doesn’t say anything because honestly, it’s all they have.

 

—  _all is said and done_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i know how it is to come across something and be triggered so here are some warnings: 
> 
> \- isaac physically hurts himself with a knife to relieve stress / mental pain  
> \- there's a brief mention of isaac wanting to kill himself  
> \- stiles is unable to look at himself and is disgusted by himself  
> \- stiles throws up because of emotional exhaustion  
> \- stiles has a minor panic attack 
> 
> if there's anything i've forgotten to tag or warn about, please do tell me. 
> 
> also, i have twitter @DADDYINAVNECK, and tumblr but everyone scares me (deaths-and-darlings)


End file.
